


We All Know Where We Go from There

by rosefox



Category: Original Work
Genre: Ambiguous endings, Blood, Delusions, Divination, Gen, Girl Scouts, Loyalty, Madness, Murder, Psychological Horror, Summer Camp, Trick or Treat: Trick, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-31
Updated: 2018-10-31
Packaged: 2019-08-01 21:25:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16292096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosefox/pseuds/rosefox
Summary: Alone in the dim, echoing kitchen, she ignores the steel appliances, their gleam now shrouded in dust, and opens a tin of tomato soup. There's no way to heat it up, but that's fine. She wasn't picky about her food even before she went to prison. Later she will wash the bowl and spoon in the sink, and watch the congealed streaks of red swirling down the drain.There are no children here now. But she still hears them laughing, and weeping, and screaming.





	We All Know Where We Go from There

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Bonster](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bonster/gifts).



> See end notes for trigger warnings.

> _The essentials of a good camp site are these:_
> 
> _1\. Pure water._
> 
> _2\. Wood that burns well. In cold weather there should be either an abundance of sound down wood, or some standing hard wood trees that are not too big for easy felling...._
> 
> _7\. Exposure to direct sunlight during a part of the day, especially during the early morning hours._
> 
> _8\. In summer, exposure to whatever breezes may blow; in cold weather, protection against the prevailing wind._
> 
> _9\. Privacy._

The grounds are overgrown, the shaggy grass dotted with orange mushrooms, except for the odd bald patches of dirt where nothing grows at all. The roofs have begun to leak, and there are streaks of mold on the cabin walls. It's nothing like the way it was, and yet it's so familiar.

Alone in the dim, echoing kitchen, she ignores the steel appliances, their gleam now shrouded in dust, and opens a tin of tomato soup. There's no way to heat it up, but that's fine. She wasn't picky about her food even before she went to prison. Later she will wash the bowl and spoon in the sink, and watch the congealed streaks of red swirling down the drain.

There are no children here now. But she still hears them laughing, and weeping, and screaming.

She never harmed any of the girls—not physically—and she did her best to protect them. She was very clear about that. Even the prosecutor had to admit it was true. She brought them all into the dining hall for a special surprise treat, getting to watch _Who Framed Roger Rabbit?_ on the big projection screen. She turned it up a little louder than necessary, so they wouldn't hear what was happening outside.

They did still have to see the blood, though. There was nothing she could do about that. She was only one person—the only adult left on the grounds, once she was done—and there was just so much to do. She dragged the last body into the counselor dorm right before the movie ended, but there was no time to wash away the blood. "Clean-up goes faster when we all help," she said as the girls shrieked and sobbed and threw up and cried for their parents. "Can you help?"

It took a little while, but they did help in the end. Such good kids. By the time the police arrived, everything was neat as a pin. She was so proud of them all for coming together at a difficult time.

She was homeless for a few months after she got out of prison. It was almost as bad as being inside. Then she remembered there was a place she could go with sturdy cabins, clean well water, a lake to bathe in, a kitchen to cook in. The manager of the supermarket in Darryton thoughtfully leaves their expired tins stacked next to the dumpsters, so she hikes down there once a week to stock up. No one bothers her. No one recognizes her.

She panhandled enough to buy some clothes at the Darryton Army/Navy surplus store. It's not the right uniform, but wearing any uniform is good. She found some patches in a supply closet and cut up a tablecloth—using resources wisely, she thinks with pride—to make a sash. The iron doesn't work, of course, so she sewed the patches on with her best tiny neat stitches. She doesn't wear the sash when she goes into town, and it always feels so good to put it on when she gets back to camp. Like she's more herself, more the person she wants to be.

She sits at one of the long, empty tables and slowly eats her cold soup. Faded trooping flags tacked to the walls watch over her. There's enough late afternoon light for her to flip through the old Scouting manual that was wedged under her bunk, propping up a short back leg. (She took the same bunk she had as a junior Scout. She's a little big for it now, but she doesn't want to go back into the counselor dorms. Not just yet. Not until she's ready.) She reads:

> _But a wise Scout does not rough it. She knows how to make herself comfortable by a hundred little dodges._

She smiles at her bowl. _That's right_ , she thinks. _That's just what I'm doing._

Soon she will finish the soup, and it will get too dark to read the book. Then she will sleep, and wake, and swim, and eat again. 

She wonders what she's doing here. Is this penance? Did she talk the psychiatrist and parole board into letting her out, only to imprison herself again? What does it even mean to pay one's debt to society? She doesn't owe society anything.

But she owes Camp Pinewood. It was everything to her when she was a girl, the one place where everything seemed easy and everyone seemed happy. It was only when she came back as a counselor that she understood how rotted its heart was. The other counselors, the camp directors, they had all forgotten the Law. She had to bring them in line, for the sake of the children. The Law required her to be courageous and strong, and to make the world a better place. It was hard, but she did her best.

Maybe that's why she came back a third time—to remember the Law, and find new ways to serve it. 

She opens the manual to a page at random, the way her grandmother did with the Bible when she wanted guidance. She reads:

> _By living in camp you begin to find that though there are many discomforts and difficulties to be got over, they can be got over with a little trouble and especially if you smile at them and tackle them.... And as you live in the fresh, pure air of God you find that your own thoughts are clean and pure as the air around you. There is hardly one of the Guide Laws that is not better carried out after you have been living and practising it in camp._

"Yes," she whispers. "Yes. My thoughts are clean and pure."

But she knows that carrying out the Law in this camp, in solitude, is not enough. She must bring the Law to the world. She must bring the world to the Law.

"Help me," she says to the book. "What should I do? Where should I begin?"

She closes her eyes. She turns the pages backwards and forwards, and at last settles on one and places her finger on a paragraph. She opens her eyes. She reads:

> _Remember that Public Health is simply good housekeeping, applied to the community._

She exhales. She understands now. This is how to pay her debt to society—to her community. It needs to be _tidied_. It needs to be _healthy_. It needs to be _cleaned_.

Darryton is as good a place to start as any. She'll have to leave the sash behind, but that's all right. She wouldn't want it to get torn, or stained.

There's no time left tonight; the light's fading, and she doesn't have a flashlight, though she could probably find her way back to her bunk in the dark. But it will be good to start fresh tomorrow. Yes. Tomorrow, she'll begin.

She stands and raises her hand to salute the vacant dining hall. "On my honor," she says softly, "I will try."

**Author's Note:**

> TW: murder of adults, psychological harm to children, children coopted into crime, blood, lawful evil alignment.
> 
> Thank you for some great prompts, Bonster—this isn't quite "gore gore gore" but I hope it still makes you happy.
> 
> The Girl Scouts are an awesome organization and much less murderous than this story might imply. Support them and buy their delicious, delicious cookies.
> 
> The quotes are from [this 1920 Scouting manual](http://www.gutenberg.org/files/28490/28490-h/28490-h.htm).
> 
> Thank you to the tremendously helpful TexasDreamer01 for the beta!


End file.
